


Peppermint

by campitor



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Fluff, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:05:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5518094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campitor/pseuds/campitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alana’s lips were always cool and fresh, her tongue always tinged with spearmint; it was a strange sensation that he looked forward to each time their necks bent in a kiss.</p><p>A gift for hannibalartblog on tumblr, who requested some fluffy Hannibloom!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peppermint

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, hannibalartblog! I hope you enjoy this fluffy Hannibal/Alana piece, and that your holidays are filled with warmth and hot cocoa. 
> 
> I imagine this piece taking place during season 2--enjoy!

Alana Bloom looked chilled to the bone when she appeared on the doorstep of Hannibal’s home, her scarf pushed up to cover her mouth and her gloved hands shoved into her armpits. Melting snowflakes made her hair glisten like the innards of icicles and dotted the shoulders of her jacket like pins of honor, sparkling as they seeped into the wool of her red pea coat, and more of their frozen brethren flurried behind her; already, her car boasted a thin layer of white. 

He ushered her inside before the heat creeped from the house and was devoured by icy teeth, noting the entire way her body shuttered in relief at the warmth. “It’s absolutely freezing out there,” she said as she stepped through the door. “I almost canceled class today—I didn’t want to leave my bed this morning.” 

“Yes, the paper said it would drop below zero with the wind chill.” He helped her shrug her layers off and hung them in the closet, pushing her scarf and mittens into the sleeve of her jacket, and noting with a smile that the rosy flush of her cold cheeks matched the fabric of her coat. “I’m sure your students would have appreciated the opportunity to burrow back into their sheets as well. Did many of them attend lecture?”

“I was missing a few; I can’t blame them really. If it wasn’t so close to finals, I would have followed their example.” Alana stretched her frozen muscles, rolling her shoulders to work some heat back into them. “God, I just can’t get over how cold it is.”

“I’m surprised you came to visit me rather than scurrying back into your own den.”

Her lips twisted wryly. “Would you be offended if I told you that I only stopped by for your fireplace?”

“Oh, I’d be _wounded_ , Dr. Bloom. But, if you follow me to the kitchen, I’ll make you something to drink while you warm up.”

Smiling, she followed him through the house, peering into the living and dining rooms as they walked. Each room was decorated tastefully for the season, draped in deep, cranberry reds. Evergreen branches were arranged on tables, their green bristles interrupted occasionally by a bright splash of winterberry. A handful of poinsettias were scattered around the house, and perched in the foyer was a little pine tree, its branches decorated with pieces of bones and horn, plumes of feathers. Alana smirked as they passed it; the piece was so classically Hannibal, beautiful bordering on gruesome, but somehow it didn’t upset the rest of the wintery décor. 

Hannibal’s kitchen was unadorned but was, thankfully, a den of warmth; between the heat cast by the oven and the light leaking in from the study where the fireplace glowed, the entire room had a stifling, sleepy quality to it that Alana wished she could wrap herself in. She watched the snow fall lazily outside as Hannibal moved between cupboards gathering up the supplies for whatever he was making. “It’s been snowing for a few hours now,” she commented after a minute. Little towers of snow were fortifying themselves along the panes of his windows, stretching up to kiss the glass and paint streaks of frost on its surface.

“Indeed. It’s supposed to continue through the night, I believe.” Hannibal set his supplies down on the counter. From the pantry he pulled a bar of chocolate covered in gold foil, which crinkled as he unwrapped it. Setting the bar down on the cutting board, he began to cut it into neat little squares, occasionally pushing the pieces into a little mound at the corner of the cutting board with his knife. “You would be welcome to stay the night here if you’d like; I’m sure that the drive home will be heinous with the weather.” 

A little shiver ran through her. “I might take you up on that offer, thank you.” She couldn’t yet figure out what this relationship was—were they trying to make a go of it, or was it merely an affair?—but it pleased her nonetheless that Hannibal sought out her company. Made her feel slightly fuzzy and champagne-light, if she was being honest. She met his easy smile with one of her own, her eyes trailing from the window to the range. 

She watched as he scooped the chocolate squares up, dumped them into pan that he had set to heat on the stove, and then fetched a bottle of milk from the fridge. “Are you making me hot chocolate?” she asked as he measured some of the rich liquid out into the pot. 

“Yes. My father had a horrible sweet tooth, and he’d often make us hot cocoa once the weather turned cold. He always insisted that it must be homemade—none of those prepackaged powders. The recipe has stuck with me over the years. I always thought that hot drinks were better when they were made for someone else; they’re sweeter, perhaps.”

“Mmm. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything but Swiss Miss.” 

“This will be richer,” he explained. “The melted chocolate and the milk make for a creamier drink and a smoother flavor. It’s heavy—hopefully it will tide you over until dinner.” He smiled as she walked over to stand by his side. One of her hands slid up to rest between his shoulder blades, and her fingers rubbed little circles against his back as she peered into the pot, admiring the way that the melting chocolate made delicate brown streaks on the creamy canvas of the milk. Gently, Hannibal stirred the mixture and the color spread, staining the white milk a rich and warm brown. 

When he was confident that the chocolate had melted evenly throughout, he stirred in a pinch of sugar and added a small splash of vanilla extract. By now the hot cocoa bubbled gently, and little tendrils of steam curled up from the surface. 

“It smells delicious,” said Alana. She couldn’t decide if it was the chocolate or the vanilla extract that was giving the drink its smooth and sweet aroma; the natural heaviness of the milk’s odor sat underneath it all, serving as a tether to prevent the sugary scent from becoming noxiously sweet. 

“Thank you. The vanilla adds a certain sweetness that the chocolate can’t provide, and the sugar helps to ward off the cocoa’s natural bitterness.” He gave it a final stir, testing the consistency with his spoon, and then fetched a mug from the cupboard. Slowly he poured out the steaming cocoa; the mixture was viscous and thick enough that the final drops had to be scraped from the pan with a spoon. Then, from the fridge he pulled out a covered steel bowl. “Do you take whipped cream on your cocoa?” he asked as he pulled the wrap off from around the rim.

“Of course. Is that homemade as well?”

“Indeed.” He spooned out a glob of the fluffy white cream; the scent of peppermint permeated the air. “I may have anticipated that you would come over this week,” he admitted when he saw her inhale the smell. “I made this specifically for you.” 

A blush spread over her features and the corners of her lips twitched in a smile. “That was sweet of you. How did you know I love peppermint?”

He paused as we went to put the bowl away. Then, said as if it were obvious, as if he hadn’t memorized the taste of her mouth: “I could taste it when we kissed.” Alana’s lips were always cool and fresh, her tongue always tinged with spearmint; it was a strange sensation that he looked forward to each time their necks bent in a kiss. He knew, too, that she enjoyed peppermint drinks from chain coffee shops, lattes spiked with winter’s breath—he could smell the traces of them in her car when they drove together. 

Her lips parted slightly at his words. His affection caused a warm and saccharine embarrassment to spread from her belly and into her finger tips. Affair or not, she had never been with a partner who had studied and memorized the colors of her life as dutifully as Hannibal. She tried to think of what other morsels of detail he had squirreled away for future occasions such as these; it was likely, she thought, that he had noted and stowed all of the things she had not yet noticed about herself, and was saving them for soft moments in a warm, tousled bed. She took a sip of the cocoa so that she might blame her blush on the heat from the drink.

“Good?” he asked as her pink tongue darted out to swipe a smear of whipped cream from her lips. There was something about her that contrasted so sweetly with himself, a playfulness that she let slip in his presence. He watched as she took another sip and nodded. It pleased him immensely that he could share this with her. 

“ _So_ good. Thank you for doing this,” she gestured to the mug, “It’s really—really thoughtful.” 

“I’m glad that you enjoy it.” Hannibal paused for a moment, and Alana waited as he searched for words. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to partake in holiday traditions with someone I care for. It’s been—it’s been quite a while since I spent the holidays with another.”

“I’m glad I can share this with you, Hannibal.” She reached out to cup his hand with hers, rubbing a little circle against the fine ridge of his wrist. The sweet solemnity of the moment was broken after a moment by the quirk of her lips and the bright flash of spirit in her eyes. “If you’d like the whole experience, you can help me lash a Christmas tree to my car this weekend. I could use the extra manpower.” 

He laughed at that. “I’m grateful for the offer.” 

Content in their warmth and soothed by the balm of companionship, they leant over the counter to kiss, their lips melding together sweetly, softly. There would be time for passion later, in the dark heat of the night when the fire burned low and the snow boxed them in. For now their gentle touches, still curious explorations due to the newness of their relationship, were enough. 

Their mouths were rosy when they pulled apart. Hannibal smirked, a cheeky brightness entering his eyes, and stole another peck from her painted lips. 

“Tastes like peppermint.”


End file.
